


At the Witching Hour

by paintedwolf



Series: Sub Rosa [5]
Category: Charmed (TV 1998)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22880596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedwolf/pseuds/paintedwolf
Summary: Tag to “Witchstock”With everyone out of the house and preoccupied with boyfriends, Elder duties and new countries, it’s mostly Chris and Piper who are left holding down the fort at the Manor. Neither of them are dealing with recent events as well as they’ve been pretending to, but a late-night chat over warm, chocolatey drinks brings with it some comfort, and, just maybe, leaves both of them feeling a little less alone.
Relationships: Chris Halliwell & Piper Halliwell
Series: Sub Rosa [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638253
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	At the Witching Hour

The house is dark and silent when he arrives in the conservatory. It’s late. The last time he’d glanced at a clock it had been approaching 11pm, as he'd sat down at his desk at the club to do some work. That could’ve been minutes before, or hours, but disturbing anyone in the house won’t be a problem – he comes and goes plenty without anyone knowing he’s there. 

Piper would absolutely freak if she found out, but what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her and – holy _crap_ , is _that_ the understatement of the century.

On nights when he can’t sleep (a more and more frequent occurrence these days), he often orbs up to the attic, and whiles away his insomnia by paging through the Book of Shadows, looking for potential leads or clues. It’s oddly peaceful up there, with no other company but the crinkly pages of his family's legacy, and the hope that the knowledge passed down and collected by generations of Warren witches would be enough to save one of their own.

Then there are other nights – nights like tonight – when gathering notes and burying himself in books isn't enough to calm the fear inside him. On those nights, he could usually be found channeling it into something more proactive in the Underworld. It’s unconventional, sure – or at least it is in this time – but sometimes gathering intel means having to get it straight from the proverbial horse's mouth. 

And Chris knows all the best dark corners and dusty watering holes for a well-disguised lurker to catch the latest rumors and whispers travelling around the demonic gossip mill. 

Before, he kind of got a kick out of it – of getting to be someone other than Chris for once, even if it meant rubbing shoulders with the kinds of evil sons-of-bitches he'd rather be vanquishing. 

But it just isn't as fun anymore when you’re _already_ pretending to be someone else every single damn day, and juggling a stack of lies as precarious as a house of playing cards.

That’s part of his problem – he isn't sure he _wants_ to keep up the charade any longer. He’s felt that way for a while now, but it’s becoming harder and harder to talk himself out of it. 

It’s exhausting, trying to keep it all together, and ever since Bianca died, he's found his heart isn't in it the way it used to be.

She was the last good thing Chris had to hold onto from his time. There’s no one left anymore to tether him to the future, no one who’s waiting for him on the other side, except maybe a furious Wyatt who'd probably kill him on sight. Things will be better if – _when_ – he saves his brother, but there are no real guarantees with time travel. It’s like sticking his hand into a black bag of treasure. Whatever he gets out of it will still be a prize, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get what he really wants. It’s a lot more difficult to fight for an abstract thing than it is for what is fixed and real – and the only reasons he has left in all the world to do that are here, in the past. It hurts that not one of them even knows that.

Earlier, when he'd left for P3, he'd been riding the high of what was – relatively speaking – a pretty good day.

Sure, they’d almost been snacks for a power-hungry mass of demonic green slime, and yeah, the girls had nearly altered their entire future while stuck in 1967 ( _not as easy as it sounds, huh?_ ), but it was good to see Grams again. 

Penny Halliwell was a force of nature, a legend among even her own family.

Chris had only met her twice in the future, before he was old enough to truly appreciate her as more than their dead Grams who sometimes came to visit them. Like so many other things that he’s never had a chance to do, because it wasn’t long after The Event that Wyatt had made it damn near impossible to summon _anyone_ from the dead.

She might not have been exactly impressed with him at first, which, okay, it _had_ stung a little, but it's not as if she would've gone any easier on him if she knew his true identity. That’s just the way she was – hard to please, fiercely protective, and with high expectations of people, particularly when it came to her family. He’s heard plenty of stories before about her famous lectures, and now having experienced one himself, even if he wasn’t directly in the firing line the whole time, the real thing definitely lives up to the reputation. Which had made it all the more wild seeing what she could have been if things were different. 

And maybe there’s something about being trapped in a house about to be swallowed whole, or being in peril in general, but he and Leo had at least managed work together, too. He felt like he had finally caught a glimpse of the man he’d wished had been his father, instead of the neglectful bastard he got instead. Their relationship is probably never going to get better beyond _we can stow our crap when things get dangerous_ , but Chris is worn out enough by now that he’ll take what he can get. 

Even Grams had told them they’d done a good job. Chris would never admit it, but he’d felt no small amount of pride hearing it. Penny Halliwell did not give compliments to just anyone, not even her own kin.

But good things always come to an end eventually, and Penny had to go back to her afterlife, Phoebe and Paige had returned to their new lives and when Chris finally had no more excuses to hang around just a little longer, he had left as well. Leo would have had to get back to his Elder duties Up There, too, which had left just Piper and Wyatt at the Manor.

For the first time since he got here, he’d felt like he was part of the family – all the usual Halliwell craziness included – and not just the annoying Whitelighter from the future that they all put up with because they have to. It’s all too typical of his luck that it had happened right when they were becoming more and more splintered by the day.

He knows the sisters need to do this; the desire to make it work won't go away until they at least try. He understands it, in a way, even if he doesn't quite _get_ it. It hasn't ever occurred to Chris that a normal life, by their definition, is something he might want; but then, he had never really been given the choice. The closest anyone got to _normal_ where he came from was getting lucky enough not to run into demons on a grocery run. For years now the best he’s hoped for is his big brother maybe _not_ stomping all over everything in an over-dramatic pissing contest between him and the rest of the world. 

Anything else would just be icing at this point.

He doesn’t like it when the Charmed Ones are scattered like this, but he's finally come around to accepting that he may be their Whitelighter, but he can't tell them how to live their lives, and he can't do his job if they’re fighting him every step of the way. None of them need a repeat of Gith.

Phoebe and Paige seem happier, at least, but Chris doesn't need to be a super-sleuth to know Piper isn't equally content with their new living arrangement. 

She’s strong and independent to a fault, but she isn't a live-alone kind of person.

Of course, she loves Wyatt, and she’s a great mother, but the company of a ten-month-old baby and a pushy Whitelighter aren't enough to make up for being away from her husband and sisters – basically her entire support system – on a regular basis. 

Chris only wishes he could do more for her, but he’s endlessly distracted by his mission, and just barely dealing with Bianca’s death. He isn't anywhere near being a good shoulder to lean on, and he doesn't want to make anything worse by saying the wrong things.

A tinkling sound, like glass, brings his thoughts to a halt, and Chris spins in a quick circle, casting his senses outward. He’s probably being overly twitchy, but you can never be too careful in this house. Nothing seems amiss though, but Chris quietly opens the door to the dining room anyway: it can't hurt to be sure.

The light in the kitchen is still on, spilling its warmth onto the floorboards just outside the door. Chris drifts towards it, silent as the shadows, and pauses just as his shoes enter the pool of light. 

She’s humming quietly to herself as she loads plates into the dishwasher, beautiful as ever. Her hair is pulled back into a messy knot, and a loose white robe hangs over her pajamas, sleeves shoved up to her elbows. The kitchen is pristine, much tidier than it had been while they were fighting off the green goo, and smells of lemons and soap. 

Everything is back in its place and as it should be, except for the probably unwanted visitor lurking just outside, threatening to interrupt her peace. Chris could so easily just melt back into the darkness, orb back to the club or upstairs, and Piper would never even know he’d been there. It would mean another night left alone to his demons and his research and his grief, but better that than intruding where it isn’t his place.

Something keeps him rooted to his spot, heart pounding in his ears, as if he really is just a Whitelighter and not immune to Piper’s freezing power. Thing is, _alone_ isn’t really working for him right now, either. There’s too much time to think and fill in the quiet and the whole reason he’s here in the first place is because no matter what he does, he can’t stop remembering it, can’t stop seeing her face and the blood and Wyatt and _I don’t need you_. I don’t _need_ you.

It’s just like earlier at P3, when he’d snapped out of a daze with tears drying on his face and all he'd achieved was a bit of aimless shuffling around of his notebooks and papers, feeling too tired to concentrate, but too restless to sleep. Even the muffling spell he uses to drown out the booming throb of the music was doing nothing to alleviate the headache that had been building behind his eyes, and Chris had eventually given up the ghost, and orbed, not caring where he ended up as long as it was any place other than there. 

He isn't even mildly surprised he'd landed in the Manor. The place isn't, strictly speaking, his home anymore, but his roots are laid deeply enough that it would always be a life raft, a safe haven, no matter what. And of course, it’s where Piper is.

He’s playing a dangerous game, doing this, but his longing to see her is overwhelming, even if all she does is tell him to go away because he’s bothering her. He blows out a breath, pivots around the door frame so he’s standing just inside the kitchen.

She still hasn’t noticed he’s there. “Hey Piper. I thought you’d be asleep already.”

His voice had been gentle, but she still jumps, spins towards him with hands held up, ready to use her powers on whatever threat has invaded her home _this_ time. It takes just a split second for her to catch herself before she can release the magic and blow him into next week. He’s pretty sure her powers don't work on him like that, but he isn’t exactly up for testing that theory out.

“Chris! What are you doing here?” she inquires, blustery, and only slightly annoyed. “This isn’t about a demon, is it? Because I’m _really_ not in the mood right now.”

“No. No more demons. At least not for tonight,” he says. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“You’d think I’d be able to after the day we've all had but–”

She shrugs, throwing a towel onto the end of the sink. She leans back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn’t seem mad he’s here, at least.

“What about you?” she asks. “You don’t normally visit so late. Or visit at all unless you need us for something.”

Her words are more piercing than angry, but Chris can feel the heat rising in his cheeks anyway. Well this is going just _great_ , he thinks.

“No. Uh. Actually, I was…I just thought I–”

He stumbles over the words, feeling foolish, feeling angry at himself for being so stupid. _Of course_ she wouldn’t have been pleased to see him at the ass end of a stressful day when she’s missing her sisters.

“Never mind,” he sighs. “I should probably go.”

His body is already dissolving into orbs when she calls him back. “Chris, wait.”

He turns back to her, shoulders hunched, but her face softens. “I just made some cocoa. Would you like a cup?”

Chris stares. “You’re offering me cocoa.”

Piper stares back, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. She shrugs, as if to say _yeah, I’m offering cocoa, got a problem with that?_

“Uh. Yeah. Sure,” he says, and drops his hands back to his sides. 

He finally crosses the threshold of the room, grabbing a chair and stiffly flopping into it. Trying to hold a door closed against several hundred pounds of slime has _not_ done his shoulders and back any favours. There’s a sharp ache just across his shoulder blades, and it takes him a bit of fidgeting before he finds a comfortable position in the hardback seat. He settles for a slight hunch over the table, forearms resting casually in front him. He watches vaguely as Piper moves around the kitchen, his mind drifting to thoughts of pancakes and peanut butter cookies and sandwiches cut into dinosaur shapes and he doesn’t notice immediately when she slides a steaming mug down in front him. She takes the seat adjacent to him, re-ties the belt around her robe as she settles. The kitchen clock ticks away several seconds before Chris reaches for his cocoa, the hot porcelain stinging his hands as he curls them around the mug. He hadn’t realized how cold he is until he can feel the warmth seeping into him and wait– are those _marshmallows_?

Chris flicks his eyes to Piper but she only glares at him narrow-eyed over the rim of her cup, just _daring_ him to say something. He blinks, half-wanting to pinch himself at how surreal it is sharing hot cocoa with his – with Piper – at God only knows what time of the night.

Sedately, he takes a sip. It’s strong and slightly bitter but not too sweet, and it’s the best thing Chris has tasted in…forever.

“Thank you,” he says, and tips his mug at her. Piper hums in response.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word. “How are you doing?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Really.”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It might have something to do with you hanging out in my kitchen in the middle of the night while _not_ haggling me to go fight some demon.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Oh no, no, no. Not at all,” she says, her smile light and playful.

Chris smiles back, the corners of his lips turning up naturally in response to Piper's teasing. God, he's missed this.

A swell of emotion hits him like a blast-wave, and he looks down quickly, not wanting Piper to see it on his face. He closes his eyes as he wills the sadness away. Tries to remind himself that he’s changing things, making them better, but it doesn't help when it feels like his heart is shattering for everything he'd never got to do with Piper, and the newer, fresher loss that haunts him right now.

“Bianca?” asks Piper, simply and gently.

“Yeah," he whispers, reaching out once again to his mug like it’s both a shield and an anchor, seeking to ground himself in its warmth. It isn't like he has anything else to hold onto. 

"I just– I miss her, you know? She really was trying to do what she thought was best.”

He swallows roughly, and his hand convulses around the cup. The hard knot of power that’s been lying firmly in his chest, kept at bay these past few days through little more than sheer will, starts to expand outwards, bubbling in his veins as it forces out the one truth he hasn't wanted to face.

“It was my fault," he cries. "If I hadn’t…she wouldn’t have…It was my fault!”

Piper leans across the table between them, and slips her hand over his. He lets go of his white-knuckle grip, skin tingling where her palm is pressed against his wrist and her thumb absently rubs soothing arcs across his knuckles.

“Chris, honey, I’m sure that’s not true.”

Chris almost believes it, just because Piper said so, but. “I should’ve protected her."

He feels nauseated. He presses his other arm into his stomach, as if he can somehow hold himself together against the feeling of something ripping apart inside him.

"I know I couldn’t without my powers; I didn't stand a chance. I was too late. I probably always would've been too late. I feel like I failed her."

Piper leans in close enough that he can smell the soap on her skin – something flowery and pleasant.

"Hey." She shakes his hand. "You did the best you could, and I'm sure Bianca knew that."

"How do _you_ know that?"

"Because you love her, and that's what you do when you love someone."

Chris breathes out slowly. "It just…hurts. She died for me and I don’t know how to...”

“I know," she says. "But it gets better, Chris. I wish I could tell you it goes away. It doesn’t; not really. But it does get better. And you know, maybe when all this is over, she’ll still be waiting for you. That’s what you’re here for, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, hoarsely, and wipes his eyes. He doesn’t dare move his left hand, the one she’s holding, not yet ready to surrender the contact when it’s already having such a calming effect on him, like her touch carries a magic of its own.

It hasn't filled the yawning hole inside him, but it’s enough to make him believe it won’t eat him alive one day. And when Piper is looking at him like _that_ – kind, understanding, compassionate – he can’t help feeling that everything _would_ be okay.

Piper finally withdraws her hand, and Chris misses it immediately. He takes in her tired eyes and drawn lips, and silently groans.

“Oh, God,” he says, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Me?” Piper waves her hands dismissively, “I’m fine. I’m great, actually. Never better.”

“Really," he says impishly. "‘Cause you know, you _are_ hanging out in your kitchen drinking cocoa at an ungodly hour. Isn’t chocolate supposed to be a comfort food?”

“Oh, look, he’s a comedian as well,” says Piper wryly.

He shrugs. “I try.”

Chris leans forward, like she had, and he bites his lip, hoping he doesn't screw this up, but he’s willing to try anyway.

“Piper, Phoebe and Paige aren’t here. You don’t have to pretend you don’t miss them. I know this new…arrangement you guys have hasn’t been easy on you.”

Piper sighs, tilts her head to the side as she frowns, “I just feel so selfish. It’s not like they’ve moved to the other side of the planet. I mean, okay, Phoebe kind of has, but they’re just an orb away if I need them, and the house is a lot quieter when they’re not here and I’ve got all this space to myself…”

Chris chuckles. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says crankily, “I just thought it would be easier than this.”

“You lived together for a long time, Piper. You’re used to them being close by, and you’re _sisters_. You love each other and know each other better than anyone else and it sucks that they’re not here right now. It's not selfish to want things back to the way they've been. But if there are any three people who can make this work, it’s you and your sisters. It’ll just take a little time to adjust, is all.”

Piper is staring at him again with an inscrutable look on her face, and Chris is suddenly uncomfortably self-conscious. Did he say something wrong? 

He rears back a little, feeling his shoulders rise again defensively. "What?"

“Since when did you become good at this whole pep-talk thing?”

Oh. His stomach lurches pleasantly, and he relaxes again. It’s good to have done something right for once. 

He shrugs with one shoulder, tries his best to go for nonchalant. "I'm full of surprises."

Piper tips her head back and honest-to-God laughs, and warmth spreads through Chris at the sound. It’s been too long since he's heard it, even longer since it’s been in response to _him_.

"Oh, I believe _that_!" she says.

Silence reigns again, and though it’s more comfortable this time than it had been earlier, Chris finds himself regretting that it’s just one more thing that, inevitably, has to end.

And not just that night, either. Chris knows the girls, knows that they'll find their way back to each other eventually, and Piper needs them more than she needs him. It would all be for the best, really. He isn't here to get close to them, can't take the risk of letting his emotions cloud his judgement. He has to focus on what’s important, and saving Wyatt is more important than anything.

Still. “Piper I–” 

He hesitates. “I know I’m not exactly your favourite person, and I can’t replace what you have with your sisters, but I–”

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he can't seem to find the last little bit of courage he needs to say them. A terrible, irrational part of him half-hopes a demon will flounce in and start trashing things, and yes, he is _very_ aware of how screwed up it is that he'd rather face fireballs and arrows than tell his mother he’s there for her.

“What?” asks Piper, slightly nervous now, and Chris has to battle the urge to drop his head on the table and refuse to say anything else. _Suck it up, Chris, it's not like you're about to ask for free access to the Nexus._

“You know I’m here if you need anything, right?" he says in a rush. "Even if it’s just…help around the house or something.”

There. He's said it; now he just has to hope he hasn't overstepped a boundary and crash-landed in creep territory.

“Thank you, Chris," Piper says finally. "That’s…weirdly comforting.”

He takes the backhanded compliment for what it is, more relieved that she hasn't told him to get lost. “Anytime.”

He swirls the remainder of his cocoa around the bottom of his cup, and downs it in one gulp. It’s only lukewarm now, but still good, even if it also means he's once again run out of excuses to stick around, and he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. He’s tired anyway, finally running on empty, and the combination of exhaustion and the push-pull of _too much at once_ is bleeding into his bones, making him feel raw and heavy. If he doesn't get out of this chair now, he won't at all, and he'll pay for it in the morning.

“I really should go," he says, standing reluctantly.

He stretches to try and ease away some of the stiffness from sitting too long. "Thank you, for…this."

He waves a hand at the table, but also means the rest of it. Even if this is a one-time deal, it means more than he can say that she'd listened to him, even when she’s hurting too.

"Try to get some rest, okay?” he says.

“Bossing me around again?”

“No! Just–”

She smiles. “I know. You should too, Chris. Get some rest, I mean.”

“I’ll try,” he promises. He knocks his knuckles twice on the corner of the table then finally turns to leave.

“Oh, Chris?"

He swings back to her once again. "Kitchen’s always open. Any time you need someplace quieter than the club.”

He nods, swallowing against her kindness. “Goodnight, Piper.”

_Thank you, Mom._


End file.
